It's Dark, And We're Wearing Sunglasses
by Cazcatharsis
Summary: My cubby-hole for those random drabble/fics that pop into my head, challenge replies, etc etc etc. Not related to OLOBA. Ratings Vary, as do Plots and characters. Reader Beware.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the joint I'll be putting challenge fics, the random bits I write after I've seen a good inspirational movie, whatever, NOT related to OLOBA at all. :)_

_I don't even want to know what possessed me to write this piece... well, nevermind, I do know what did it, the line below. and I doubt I"ll go any further with it, it's just a one shot that I wrote last September, and fucked if I can think of a title._

_**WARNING: 07 movie AU, and not pretty, and written in less than ten minutes with no editting. You've been warned.**_

* * *

"_Every species can smell its own extinction. The last ones left won't have a pretty time with it. In ten years, maybe less, the human race will just be a bedtime story for their children. A myth, nothing more." ~ In the Mouth of Madness_

* * *

It was ten years to the day. The Mission City battle, the loss of the Allspark and Optimus Prime, the vow of vengeance from Megatron and the surviving Decepticons, the resulting carnage of both human and Autobot that lasted, well, ever since. The bloodshed hadn't ceased, with every new day another thousand humans died, another hopeful cadre of Autobots ripped to pieces.

It only took Megatron three years to complete what we humans had been doing for over a century. With over a hundred troops and near limitless natural resources, plus some brought from his home planet and surrounding galaxies, he brought the to atmosphere such toxins that it rained acid and ash, blotted out the sun with clouds carrion black, and it took only a few months for most of the plant-life to wither and die, and a year after that for the animals. Five years after his Victory, he'd driven nearly every human underground, the others he used as slaves, target practice, hell, even energy sources. That shitty movie _the Matrix_? Yeah… Morpheus was right. We're nothing but batteries for the machine.

We'd stopped cheering in hope when another warship full of Autobots landed two years ago. They never lasted more than a few days. If they were lucky, a human loyal to the cause would be around to explain a few things to them, take them and hide them underground with the rest of their clan. And if that clan were extremely lucky, they didn't have a snitch or a weakness in their fortifications, or someone extremely sleepy on guard duty. Those Autobots usually lasted a few months before depression, hopelessness, or gunfire and claws got a hold of them. Maybe one or two survived even that, and stayed, because really, where were they supposed to go?

Now, a decade after the enemy got the power of God, there were less than a million of us left worldwide. We only knew that because of Morse Code, a lot of luck and a fast Autobot on our side. The Autobots numbered at less than 20, with not much hope of any more showing up after all communications having been cut last year. And half of them were so fucked up by the tragedy of this planet and their future that they didn't do much but weep.

The Decepticons on the other hand numbered well into the hundreds now, giant killing machines whose purpose seemed solely to hunt us down and devour us, one way or the other.

It wasn't all bad though.

We had a power source. And although the Autobots who still had their CPUs intact didn't like it very much, we used it to its fullest extent. Some of the mechanoids had done some good and mangled a few Decepticons, and ripped out their sparks. _Souls_. Souls of dead monsters powered our little habitats, our dwellings, our computers, shitty though they were. The Bots didn't like that much. But they were vastly outnumbered and could also see the logic in it.

Those souls also powered our sunlamps. We had plants growing underground. Tomatoes. Cucumbers. Fuck, even a few lilies for atmosphere. Some fool went so far as to plant a pine tree about four years ago so we could decorate it and pretend normalcy for a few hours every Christmas. The thing isn't even as tall as I am yet, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, now can they?

We have a few cows, chickens, pigs, cats and dogs, a few other birds, a pool for fish… Fresh Meat.

We've had four births since last May. All healthy little boys and girls, named after our dead Heroes, and were doing well. With the Autobots help and a generous amount of coddling, they were developing quickly.

Every once in a while, I'd see smiling human faces and hear a hum or whistle and know that we've made some progress, or at least somebody is having a good day.

I just hoped that tomorrow would bring more.

Ten years later, a million of us left, and the storm pounding us, unrelenting, and still, we stood up and lived, thrived, and once in a while, scored a small victory.

* * *

a/n: POV = Random Chick #69


	2. The Finger of God

This was my lame contribution to the _Flesh and Steel_ Natural Disasters _Challenge_. I just needed an excuse to write something with a tornado in it. Haha. It doth suck. Thanks to Sister_dear for pointing out my shitty POVs. I fixed what I could. LOL

Notes2: I don't' know Wheelie all that good, so please, ignore any OOCness. I storm chase as a hobby but I don't know shit about em, I just think they're pretty, so some facts are probably skewed. And I don't do beta's, so there's probably a lot of mistakes and crappy descriptions and such. Just go with it. LOL.

**The Finger of God**

pairing: Wheelie/Mikaela

challenge: Put a human and a mech in a situation where they have to survive or just tolerate some sort of natural disaster

* * *

"Faster! Go faster!"

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder."

Mikaela glared at her road companion, unconsciously reaching for a blowtorch that wasn't there. He gave her a look that was so victoriously smug that she was tempted to roll down the window and shove his little blue metal ass out onto the pavement and let Barricade have his way with him.

And oh, did that ever sound wrong.

Wheelie saw unvocalized threat in her features, and slumped in the seat. Satisfied, Mikaela went back to paying attention to the road and the flashing red and blue lights of their pursuer.

The Fucker had not let up in fifty miles, trailing casually behind them like he _wasn't_ stalking them, and it didn't seem he'd be giving up anytime soon. Neither of them were sure what the hell he was doing. Barricade could have easily caught up to them anytime in the past hour or so, but he hadn't.

But he wasn't just following them either. Wheelie was sure this was vengeance for his going traitor, and Barricade's actions were mere terror tactics, just enough to scare them good before he went in for the kill.

"It's his way." Wheelie'd said, and Mikaela, though still not completely trusting the little Ex-Decepticon, believed him.

And to make matters worse, they were driving into one big scary fuck of a thunderstorm, and Mikaela didn't think Wheelie understood how dangerous this could be. Sure she was a Nevada girl, but she knew enough about the country, had family out here two states over, who told her about some of their nastier weather as a shock story during Christmas. Really, it was one of the reasons she came out here, not only to visit her vacationing family, but in the hope of witnessing some of the things her family had told her about. Microbursts, hailstorms, tornados... well, she hadn't seen a tornado yet, but right now, at this moment, the last thing she wanted to deal with is getting bashed by grapefruit sized hail and getting blown off the road. She just wanted to get the fuck away from Barricade and his big scary flail. Sightseeing was _so_ not a priority.

So she kept driving and the little blue mech kept on her ass about it. The more angry she was the better she drove, so it was a good deal, though she didn't feel much appreciation for it at the time.

And then the rain got worse.

First, the big plops, fat rain, then steadily more windblown, almost horizontal, the kind that would almost feel like sand if she was outside, it was blowing so hard. She looked up out the sunroof and almost gaped at the churning black clouds.

"Ooooh!" came from Wheelie as he did the same, one little hand on Mikaela's thigh, supposedly for balance.

She didn't shake him off this time, too fascinated with the storm and scared from the chase to bother correcting the little mech. Ever since he humped her leg at the Smithsonian, he'd taken every chance he could get to touch her, and like the proud woman she was, she'd shake him off and give him shit. She'd had enough random groping in high school to last her a lifetime.

Instead, she slammed the pedal and sped up, sending him stumbling back into the seat and bounced off to the floor in a flurry of cuss words. She resisted the smile tugging at her lips and kept on going, checking the rear view mirror every five seconds or so. Barricade had been slowly catching up, then backing off so they nearly couldn't see him, then speeding up again, taking his time, playing with them. Now he was closer, and Mikaela couldn't go any faster without hydroplaning.

They were boned.

With a smart ass blip of his siren, Barricade put on a sudden burst of speed and tapped Mikaela's back bumper. Wheelie squealed, but the jolt only urged Mikaela to squeeze another couple mph out of her piece of shit car. "Fuck!"

The second hit was a little harder, and the back bumper rattled in place. Mikaela was starting to panic.

"Human."

Barricade hit them a third time, nearly causing Mikaela's head to bounce off the steering wheel, back tires skidding, bumper coming loose enough to start dragging on the pavement behind them. She corrected quickly and growled at everything.

"Femme."

The cop car fell back a little bit, and Mikaela prepared herself.

"MIKAELA!"

"WHAT?!"

If her eyes could shoot flames, Wheelie would be a pile of ashes on the seat, and he knew it. But his curiosity always got him in trouble, and that... swirling dust thing in the field was way too interesting to ignore.

"What is that?"

Mikaela followed his pointed finger and frowned.

Off to the left, in a field maybe three quarters of a mile away, was a huge dust cloud, black, and as she looked further up... _oh... oh fucking shitting hell. So THAT'S what a tornado looks like_. And it was a strong one if one could tell by how quickly that tool shed was destroyed and that tree was torn out of the ground.

Barricade took advantage of Mikaela's distraction and rammed them one final time, with enough strength to crumple the trunk. This time her head DID bounce off the steering wheel, then slammed hard against the driver's side window as the car skidded out completely. The heavy rain didn't help at all, tires slipping uselessly over the puddles as Mikaela and Wheelie screamed and spun.

The car skidded sideways to the edge of the road and flipped when rubber hit dirt, the car rolling onto the side, the roof, and came to a creaking rest on Mikaela's side, sending Wheelie flying down on top of Mikaela in a heap of twisted limbs. Neither of them could tell if the growling was from their struggling coughing engine, a victorious Barricade, or the blackened twister steadily ripping up the field towards them.

Mikaela's head spun, and took a moment to get her vision straight before groping half blind for her seat belt. Wheelie made himself useful despite feeling like slag himself, unclasped it for her, and began the climb up the seat and out of the shattered side window. Mikaela followed, dizzy, through the window and fell out of the car onto the dried grass and dirt. Wheelie skittered up next to her, shaking his head as if to clear it, jittering and bitching. Already debris flew at ungodly speeds around them, chunks of grass, wheat, and wooden boards presumably from a shredded barn or farmhouse.

Mikaela kept close to the ground, looking for their opponent on the road, waiting for his transformation and unfurling of his flail, at the same time trying to keep an eye on the tornado, which had already grown in size and volume, roaring in her ears and less than a half mile away. The heavily damaged car, their only shield from both Barricade and the growing vortex, began to rock and slide, threatening to roll over on top of them. She wasn't ready to abandon it yet, not until she could figure some shit out.

Her eyes finally fell on Barricade who, after having successfully rammed them off the road, turned himself around and transformed. He looked over a shoulder at the tornado, showing little concern, shrugged, and stalked down the embankment toward the crashed car and his two dizzy victims.

Wheelie screamed, tugging at his human companion's shorts, wincing at the mud and wet grass sticking to her limbs and hair, and the small trickle of blood from a cut on her forehead, and internally regretting his decision to abandon the Decepticons. He considered pleading with Barricade to take him back if only to save his Goddess's life.

He didn't have the chance to... Mikaela was no helpless maiden, and before he could take a step towards Barricade to start begging, she scrambled to her feet, grabbed him, and dashed away through the long grass. Wheelie _felt_ Barricade's battle roar over the growling wind and tucked his head into Mikaela's shirt, proud of her spunk but dreading her inevitable death. Barricade would catch them in seconds, there was no hope.

**CRUNCH**

Mikaela looked over her shoulder at the sound of metal crumpling, and saw...'Is that a Jet-Ski?'..._something _good sized and metaltake out Barricade's legs, sweeping them out from underneath him, making him fall ungraciously to the dirt and grass. Wheelie's came out from hiding as his Goddess kept running, targeting a decrepit barn not too far away, and watched the shock trooper get dragged across the prairie, beaten by tree stumps, power poles, and whatever else happened to be flying around. He was amazed that his human even kept on her feet!

Barricade yowled as the tornado finally got the best of him, pulling him hard enough that he left claw marks in the dirt as it picked him completely off the ground and flung him away like he was no heavier than a tricycle. Wheelie lost sight of him after that, so he concentrated on urging his woman to run faster, harder, and get them to safety.

"DUCK!" He cried, and Mikaela obeyed out of instinct, narrowly avoiding disembowelment via flying rototiller, hitting the ground hard, then up on her feet almost instantly afterward, running faster as the barn got ever closer.

Outrunning a tornado was impossible, but Mikaela and her long (_and fabulous,_ in Wheelie's not so humble opinion) legs were doing a damned fine job of it, and in what seemed like seconds she was pulling at the giant red doors, falling inside, and kicking them shut, just in time for a tree to scrape past just outside. A second later and she would have been plantfood.

The barrier between them and the tornado did nothing to dull the roar of destruction just outside, and they had mere seconds to find someplace to hunker down and pray. Wheelie watched the walls of the barn vibrate, already some boards coming loose and shaking in place under the force of the wind, which had surpassed 140 miles per hour by his measurements, and doubted there was any place to hide in here that would do them any good besides letting them live another three seconds. The thing looked ready to fall apart WITHOUT the whirlwind's help, rotting, full of straw, bird shit and a rickety loft, and rattling farm implements, pitchforks and the like, mounted on the wall. No way in the Pit did he want his woman in here when those things decided to take flight.

He dropped to the ground out of her grip and looked around just as frantically as she did, time running out quickly as the doors of the barn rumbled in place and the dusty single-pane windows bent inwards like liquid. To Mikaela it looked like a giant invisible fist pushing the glass in like it was nothing more than Saran Wrap.

"Aww fuck." They both muttered, then glanced at each other and grinned.

Her ears popped and the windows suddenly shattered under the pressure, shards flying at high speeds right toward her. She hit the floor almost immediately as the glass and wood flew, screaming when something embedded itself into her arm.

Wheelie zipped over as quickly as he could so he could check the wound, trying to keep on his feet as the wind swept through the barn, already knocking chunks of wood off the walls and sending those dangerous hand held tools to the ground. So ignorant of his surroundings and in his panic he tripped over something small and curved sticking out of the wood, landing in an undignified heap.

"Here!" Mikaela reached over and hooked an arm around him as he flailed, swept dirt and straw out of the way, and found a hatch. A storm-cellar! He'd tripped over the door handle!

It took her seconds to pull it open and drop down, not wary of the dark at all, hoping that she didn't land on anything pointy, taking Wheelie with her, clutched close. It wasn't too far a drop and she reached up on her toes and yanked thee door shut, then latched it as best she could in the dark. The cellar door was flimsy, the lock and hinges were rusty, she could even see daylight through the cracks and seams, but it was sure as shit better than being upstairs in her opinion.

Wheelie attached himself to her hip, shaking. "What now?"

It was darker than hell despite the light from the cracks, but Wheelie's optics did a relatively decent job of lighting up the place, not so much she could see everything but enough to see outlines of a shelf with some glass jars, a stool, and not much else but dirt and rotted wood.

All she could hear now was the howling wind and the scream of wood yanked from nails and cracking impact of heavy hard things smashing into and through the walls of the barn above. She could barely hear herself think, let alone the tiny whines and chitters coming from Wheelie or her own gasps and whimpers.

She sunk to the floor and scooted backwards until she found something solid, and curled herself into a ball, cold and wide-eyed and afraid, shaking as Wheelie climbed back up her legs, surprisingly calm, and wrapped his tiny arms around her head.

She let out another whimper when she heard the barn finally groan and collapse under the storm, the impact of the beams loud enough to leave her ears ringing and scared that their little hideout would splinter and drop onto them both. She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable weight.

Wheelie tentatively touched her arm, and she reacted immediately, hooking that arm around him, curled herself around him silently, and waited. Shocked at her, but happy to be tucked into her warmth, he sent out a little humming vibration, hoping to keep her calm. She curled tighter around him and just sat there listening to the chaos above.

It was the miniature Cybertronian's turn to cringe as he heard something heavy and metallic scrape and drag heavily across the floor above, stop, then BANG down again right above them, cracking the flimsy wooden door in half, showing the faded and rusty yellow paint of a small tractor. His Goddess screamed as more and more things were either swept away or got caught on the tractor, putting an unbearable amount of weight on their cellar until the door completely disappeared and the tractor creaked, tipped and fell into their space, landing only three feet above the floor, hanging precariously there within arms reach.

Mikaela felt the ground shake and she took the brunt of the wind as the twister swept through and destroyed everything in it's path. Grass, dirt, and wood piled in on them and was picked up and swept away again, the small human trying to find anything to hang on to as her body is slowly lifted off the ground and pelted with gravel and grass and small bits of wood, the mech attached to her trying his best to shelter her but doing absolutely no good as he gripped her belt loops and hung on tight.

It seemed like hours, but the worst of it was over in seconds. The wind died down quickly enough to drop Mikaela hard to the ground, where she landed on her stomach and didn't move, quickly covered from head to toe in wet grass and more dirt, and pinned down by a twisted bicycle. The tractor had dropped another foot and most of the roof of the barn had crumbled and filled up what remained of the cellar door. Wheelie himself had been peppered with rocks and wood and wasn't exactly feeling that great himself, so once he knew his human was just unconscious and not dead and well out of immediate danger of getting sucked out of their cellar, he fell unconscious next to her.

* * *

Mikaela coughed dirt and sand and wetness as soon as she woke up, struggling to breathe right, limbs heavy and exhausted and somewhat sore. She spit out what came up, internally wincing at it's blackness. '_Fuck, I must have breathed in nothing but dirt to be coughing out that much_,' she thought, and her throat felt as if it'd been sandblasted. She groaned at the ache in her lungs and legs and head, dizzy, disoriented, wondering what the fuck just happened. She felt worse than she did after Mission City, after Egypt, thoroughly beaten up and dirty and tired.

The mini-mystery was quickly solved as she realized she was sitting up... no, more like propped up, against a wet wall, long legs rested up on the wreckage of... a tractor? _Oh yeah, the tornado._

_I just can't get a break, can I?_ She thought humourlessly.

She moaned when she tried to move her arm, desperate to get to her feet, get moving, investigate...

"Don't move."

She froze, then looked down at her side, and found her little blue metal friend with a strip of fabric in his hands, glaring at her.

"Wheelie?"

He huffed and placed the fabric against her wound. She hissed at the sensation of course fabric against torn skin, and it was quickly removed.

"Sorry." he said regretfully and placed it back on the wound, the one caused by flying glass upstairs. It wasn't too serious, but he _could not _have blood on her. It seemed blasphemous to have it mar her skin. He'd already cleaned the wound on her head, the tear on her leg, and a few of the cuts on her arms. He was nearly finished, and had hoped she'd remain unconscious until he was done, but nope, his Warrior was tough, she had to come out of it early.

She understood what he was doing and remained still and silent for the next few minutes as he finished. Mikaela smiled slightly at him, laughing inside her head at his choice of dressing. '_He always wanted to see me with my shirt off'_, she thought as she saw the label on the strip of cloth he was now using to wipe away the dirt on her thigh, '_now's his chance!_' She didn't even care that she was sitting in a dark hole with an ex-Decepticon in nothing but her bra and a torn pair of jean shorts. Though she was definitely curious how he got her shirt off in the first place.

Wheelie caught the smile and paused, tilting his head inquisitively at his woman, but on receiving no explanation, got back to cleaning her up. She'd be alright. Beaten up, would be sore for a few days, but alright. He'd never felt such relief. And he never had a doubt of how strong she was.

"How long was I out?" she groaned. Painful to talk.

Wheelie looked up at her, face practically glowing with the dusk-tinged light. "Half an hour."

She hums. "You okay?"

Wheelie felt his spark burn just a little at the sound of concern in her voice, then let it slide. Priorities. "Besides scuffed paint and a twisted wire or two, fine."

She hummed again, contented. "Thank you."

Wheelie nearly fainted from shock.

_She thanks me? NOBODY thanks me!_

He looked up at her in amazement, hand on her thigh (yes, he had to cop a feel or two where he could... when else would he get a chance without getting smacked for it?), and purred. She gave him a fond smile in return, and rested her head back against the wall.

He basked in her apparent concern for a minute before going back to checking her over for more injuries. Humans... so fragile, anything could hurt them. Though he had to make exception for that.... thing. It took Barricade down, it was no wonder it had torn up his Goddess.

A few minutes of silence and rest was apparently all she needed, and soon Wheelie found himself trying to convince her not to try climbing out of the hole they were in, knowing it was much too dangerous, unstable, too much risk of a full collapse, and there was no way he was going to put his woman in danger of being crushed under a tractor after all this! She insisted she could, and would, escape on her own.

He finally fell back on negotiation and logic.. 'Beautiful, but not too bright' was still his idea of her, and though that opinion shifted now and then, his Warrior was stubborn as hell when it came to being caged in any way, and smart decision or not, she would find a way to be free. He just had to find a logical way to present other options to her.

After a few more minutes of agitated arguing and more than a little pleading on Wheelie's behalf, Mikaela slumped, defeated, in the face of his plan.

"Fine."

He disliked the beaten tone in her voice, and wanted it gone, now.

Not sure how to do this without her smacking him one, he winged it, climbing carefully onto her lap and stood as carefully as he could away from any of her open wounds, reached up to her saddened face. His warrior never could stand defeat, or being some 'helpless maiden' as she called it. He had to rectify this.

On contact, Mikaela's blue eyes met his red, and Wheelie lost the power of speech. Everything he'd planned to say to make her feel better went right out the proverbial window at the power in those eyes. He'd been wrong. She wasn't defeated. His Warrior Goddess was NEVER defeated. Just... temporarily restrained, only to be more deadly when finally set loose again. Her eyes reflected pure fire.

_Primus, what a turn-on._

He had to get away from her before he did something unforgivable.

Mikaela's confusion far outweighed her hurt pride, so when Wheelie hopped off her and sped up a fallen beam faster than she could say 'exhaust flush', she couldn't say or do a thing to stop him. That look in his optics...

"Wheelie?" She called, hissing when she sat straight, feeling that gross sting of skin being tugged. She checked the wound on her arm, the one that previously held a rather large chunk of busted window glass, and found it neatly stitched up... the hell? '_Christ, he must've used the thread in the shirt... resourceful little bastard.'_ She didn't want to think about how unclean it was, Ratchet would probably have both their heads for this, but she was grateful for the effort. What a sweet little guy.

He didn't answer her calls, sliding out from under the wreckage as carefully as possible. He was small, he was light, but the wreckage was near collapse and any small movement could bring it all down. His girl was down there alone now, no way would he let anything else happen to her.

'_Wow, and I used to be a Decepticon...'_ Wheelie thought with a bit of amazement, that in such a short time he could convert so completely. He never liked how the Con's treated him, never really liked what they did, and now more than ever, he didn't share their opinion of blanket hate of all species considered 'beneath them'. Humans, he was beginning to believe, were the exception to the rule. Especially his Goddess.

He stared in awe at the utter destruction around him, the prairie swept clean of all obstructions except one high wooden beam of the barn and a ragged tree in the distance. The storm had mostly passed, and in the distance Wheelie could see blue sky.

"Wheelie?"

Right. Back to the task at hand. Freeing his Valkyrie. Yes. Perfect name for her.

As he started to drag some things out of the way, things that were way too big for him, pulling servos and wires out of place with the effort, he heard her underneath him doing what she could to do the same.

"Goddess, do not disturb the wreckage!"

"I know, I know." She growled impatiently, and he smiled.

Underground, Mikaela also smiled when she heard something large being dragged across the floor, accompanied by Wheelie-style cussing and something that sounded like his little foot connecting with solid wood.

* * *

After an hour of hard labour and a hell of a lot of cursing in both Cybertronian and English, Wheelie managed to move enough crap out of the way that his Goddess could climb free. And, as usual defying his advice, Mikaela had done her own work from underneath, which he admitted probably helped speed things up. No way could he have moved that beam by himself, strong as he was. They had a couple close calls though, most memorable was when the tractor came loose and almost rolled onto Mikaela. The poor femme had screamed and toppled back, but was uninjured, and the resulting hole in the debris was more beneficial than anything. Really sped things up!

"Alright, lets get the hell out of here." Mikaela called from below, and started her ascent.

Wheelie watched her climb, practically shaking in his armour every time her foot slipped or a splinter penetrated her skin, and when she was finally free on semi-solid ground, he couldn't help but completely glomp her.

Mikaela giggled and hugged the little mech to her. They rested together on the tattered floor for a few moments, neither really feeling like moving much, knowing that they should.

A question occurred to Mikaela as she glanced at her companion's red eyes. "Any sign of Barricade?"

"Dontcha think I'd 'a screamed like a femme if I HAD seen Barricade?"

"True." As would she. She looked down at the little hand on her boob and internally giggled again. Couldn't get enough of her, could he? "My hero." She joked quietly, giving him a pat.

When her caressing palm left a bloody streak across his armour, Wheelie growled. "You're bleeding again!"

"Meh." She shrugged.

Wheelie began muttering again and dug out a few remnants of Mikaela's shirt out of god knows where, had a seat next to her arm and began to wrap her hands. Mikaela smiled at him again.

"You're all scuffed up." She observed, also noting the sparking wire on his right side and the bent bits of armour on his left leg. She'd have to fix him up, give him some fresh paint when she got her hands on some tools. And, shit, she owed it to him now to fix his optic properly. Now more than ever she felt like an asshole for doing that to him and letting it stay that way for months on end. She wouldn't have done that to any human, why did she think it was okay to do that to a mech?

"I'll live." He cheeked, tying a rather fancy bow on her palm with a strip of her shirt, then went and worked on the other.

A siren whooped in the distance, and instinctively both Mikaela and Wheelie flattened on the floor and looked around for the blue and red lights. The highway was not too terribly far away and Mikaela huffed a sigh of relief when she saw it wasn't Barricade.

"Ratchet! About Primus-damned time!" Wheelie screeched, hopping to his feet as the yellow-green Hummer with the flashing yellow lights suddenly veered off the highway and lurched into the field.

Mikaela had no idea how he did it, but Ratchet DROVE like he was irritated as hell, projecting it across the field to them, and when he arrived and transformed the both of them were prepared to feel the sharp edge of his proverbial tongue. But when he looked down on the ragged pair, he slumped.

"I leave you two alone for ONE day..."

They immediately protested.

"Wasn't our fault!"

"Barricade came after us..."

"And there was this HUGE tornado..."

"We didn't exactly PLAN that!"

"QUIET!" He frowned down at them. "Mikaela, you shouldn't have moved. Primus knows if you have a concussion, and look at you! And YOU Wheelie, as if you weren't glitched already! Do you have ANY idea how difficult it is to repair a model as small as you? At least you had the sense to comm me. GET inside, BOTH of you!"

He transformed with a deep angered growl and the pair meekly climbed inside, both secretly grinning at his irritation.

His Valkyrie passed out almost immediately after laying on her side on the small gurney Ratchet had stashed away in the back, closely monitored by the still grumbling medic as he drove them towards civilization. Wheelie took advantage of the quiet as he always did, climbing up on the gurney with her, ignoring Ratchet's orders to leave her alone, and curled into the space between her knees and her chest. He let out a pleased purr when her arm came out and wrapped around his chassis, pulling him into her soft warm body. He took the chance and snuggled his head between her breasts, and fell into recharge thinking that he could really get used to this treatment.

* * *

Cheesy ending, no point at all to the story, but meh. :D It was fun to write.


	3. Mating Ritual

_This fic is my late entry to the LJ flesh_and_steel Mating Rituals challenge. I can't win cause I along with sister_dear run the joint, but it won't stop me from writing if the bunny bites. hahaha. _

**I'm What's Crackin', Lil' Bitch!**

Optimus Prime observed his SIC Jazz interacting with the 'children' during a two on two Halo 3 Death Match, where himself and young Sam were losing the game at an embarrassing rate to "Team Spanks Ya". Mikaela cackled as her team-mate Jazz shot the head off of Prime's red and blue Elite and did a victory dance, showing off his 'moves' for the girl. A double-whammy.

Prime shook his head at but kept silent. Jazz had been making such displays for the femme ever since he first saw her in that dark dirty back alley last year. Adding little twists and flips into his transformation sequences, incorporating music once in a while, even the off-the-cuff dances he did when he... slaggit, blew Prime's head off for the fourteenth time. Jazz actually got pretty good height this time, half transforming midair, throwing a couple of capoeira moves in and blasting "Son of a Gun! Superhero #1!" before sliding effortlessly back into full mech mode, laying flat on his front and giving his team-mate a sleazy grin barely considered appropriate.

"Show-off." Sam muttered at the same time Mikaela clapped and smiled, and Prime once again admired the boy for his, for lack of a better word, gumption, as he hunted down Jazz's grey and white Spartan and smacked him upside the head with a pistol, killing him instantly. "Hah!"

"You cheated." Jazz instantly protested.

"Did not. A good soldier watches for distracted enemies and takes advantage." Sam grinned at the flustered mech, and Prime laughed and nodded.

"Listen to the human, Jazz." His character fired a rocket off and took down both of the opposing team. "See?"

Jazz mumbled and Mikaela glared, but like Sam, was quickly back into the game with grim intention, and Prime quickly lost another life via Energy Sword.

"Arrrriiiiiiiight, that's my gal!"

Mikaela preened. "Thank you babe."

Sam looked a wee bit jealous for a moment, which was long enough for Prime's Lieutenant to blow his head off with a shotgun. "Hey!"

"Gotta be faster 'n that, Sammy."

The boy growled. Prime didn't blame him. It was so obvious what Jazz was attempting, to him, to Ratchet, even to the lead-headed Ironhide it was obvious. But not to the humans. Humans did this differently. Humans weeded out the 'bad ones' by looks and personality, money and power, but Cybertronians, funnily enough, were a little like the birds of Earth, they liked a light show and a good dance, and in War times, showing off battle prowess, even simulated, could be a huge turn-on. Not to mention complicated transformations, something to dazzle the femmes... Jazz had it all, even incorporating human-style 'come hither' techniques, and was laying it all out for the poor human girl. She didn't have a chance.

"Oh shit! Guys, I gotta go! Gramma's gonna kill me if I don't get home, like, five minutes ago." Mikaela dropped her Xbox controller and mindlessly ran for the door, grabbing up her purse on the way. Prime watched, amused as it finally hit her that her usual ride was off getting the slag beat out of him by the resident Weapon's Specialist. "Dammit!"

"Want me to call Bee?" Sam offered, also putting aside his controller and standing. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind getting rescued from Ironhide."

"No, Prime said he needed the training."

Optimus nodded. "Months of parking in your garage has made him, erm... rusty."

"Primus I hope not." Jazz shuddered, likely in remembrance of his last case of rust. Prime agreed. HIS last case of rust was a horrible, nasty, very long suffering period, and he'd prefer never to repeat it. Ratchet told him though, never interface without actually KNOWING the femme first, one never knows what one will pick up from them.

Optimus had a conundrum. He was grateful to the little human male for saving his life, humbled by him for saving the entire planet and taking down Prime's greatest enemy, and so wanted him to be happy... and this female MADE him happy.

BUT, he was also greatly indebted to his close friend Jazz, they'd been companions for thousands of years, knew everything about each other. Jazz even called Optimus 'his boy', like the Prime was part of his entourage rather than the other way around. It was a personal joke, one they laughed over late at night. And he was very obviously hot for the femme as well.

_Oh fraggit. _

"Jazz, be a good team-mate and transport Mikaela home."

He made it sound like an order but he knew Jazz would know it was more a suggestion than anything. Might as well give him a shot, especially after all the dancing and showing off he'd been doing for her.

Jazz nodded, but a tell-tale twinkle in his visor told the Prime how very happy he was with the idea, and the chance. He deserved a little loving.

Mikaela watched Jazz do an extremely flashy transformation into his Solstice form, laughed, and slid into the driver's seat. As they drove off, Optimus was surprised to hear her glibly state, "Prime's transformation is still prettier than yours."

"WHAT?!"

Prime couldn't hear what else was said, as he was laughing too hard.

Sam looked displeased with the whole deal, but being a resilient little male, shrugged and diverted his attention back to the video simulation. "Best of three?"

_The child has bolts!_ "You're on."

* * *

A/N: _I can so see their transformations to be a sort of Mating Dance in a way, and in Wartime, how good they are at roasting the enemy.... yeah. RAWR._

_the song quoted was KMFDM's Son of a Gun_


	4. No Soup For You

... i got this idea whilst taking a dump, so don't expect much. hahahaha. Also, written in about 20 minutes, unbeta'd and written under the influence of a migraine and lots of painkillers.

oh, and i don't own shit.

* * *

**No Soup for You** (or _**Why Glen got Donuts on November 1st**_)

Glen didn't know who started it, who suggested it to them. He just knew that he was going to kick the livin' daylights out of them when he found out.

* * *

He was just chillin' at home, minding his own business, Halloween Night and all, handing out candy to kids cause his gramma got stuck in the bathroom. Too much prune juice. Was missin' one hell of a party at Maggie's, but hey, it was his GRAMMA. You don't say no to her. You just don't.

Anyway, the doorbell rang. He paused _Scary Movie_, right when Carmen Electra was running through the sprinklers in her bra, and got up to answer it. Thing was, nobody was there.

At first he thought it was just kids pullin' some dumb-ass halloween prank.

Then he saw it.

... that goddamn semi with the green clowny face on it. He knew that truck. KNEW IT. He'd had nightmares about it when he was a kid.

It was the truck from Maximum Overdrive. And it was sitting on the street, FACING him. Facing his front door, so that those horrible red glowing eyes stared riiiiiight into the front door. Into HIM.

Glen froze. Willed himself not to wet his boxers. Rubbed at his glasses. Wondered what gramma spiked his Big Gulp with.

Then he shut the door.

* * *

About half an hour later, during the _Shakespeare in Love _scene and after he'd finally stopped shaking, the doorbell rang again. Glen's eyes moved from the TV and flicked to the door, uncertain about answering it. Last time it was a kid, cute one in a bumblebee costume (and hell if that didn't make him choke), so he pulled up his big boy undies and got off the couch.

Again, there was nobody there... but a 1958 Plymouth Fury parked in the driveway. The engine rumbled menacingly and Glen could only squeak like a mouse and slam the door.

Christine revved so hard the house shook, and Glen ran upstairs, screaming.

"GRAMMA!"

* * *

"You guys are assholes."

"If I may remind you, this was YOUR idea, Miss Madsen." Giggled Bumblebee as he backed out of the driveway and shook off his red Fury disguise. Optimus Prime was about four blocks away, strangely keeping his scary alt-mode, but happily surrounded by children playing with the nose of the big green face on his grill.

"I'm an asshole too." She laughed, shutting off the video camera.

* * *

Why did he call for Gramma? WHY? Now she wanted a laxative, and HE had to go get it. WHY did he call attention to himself? WHY?

Now he was walkin' the streets, it was almost 11 at night, the kids were gone, and Glen saw shadows, heard noises, and he never moved faster in his life.

Salvation was in his midst, a 7-11 and it's glorious lights and drunken morons and... nachos. Mmm, nachos. He set his sights on it, didn't deviate, and walked even faster... then he heard the growl.

_No, I didn't hear a thing. There is nothing there. Just keep moving, and in the name of sweet baby Jesus, do NOT look behind you_.

He never listened to himself before... just a quick peek!

A glance over his shoulder was all he needed.

The massive 1940 Reo panel van with the BEATNGU plate rolled ever so quietly behind him, but as soon as he looked, it honked.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

* * *

"Oh my god, did he just pee himself?"

"Yup." said Ironhide, letting his victim run for the 7-11 without further accostment.

* * *

He called a cab home. And he kept his eyes peeled the entire time. Someone was fucking with him. He knew it. But everything primal inside him was keyed up and watchful. And he was mad.

The cab pulled up to his house, and Glen saw it right away. The cop car. He knew that cop car. He'd seen it before, was afraid of it.

And you know what? No way was he going to run, squeal, or pee his pants (again). No, now... NOW, he was gonna get some motherfuckin' payback. BITCH WAS GOING DOOOOOOWN!

Glen calmly paid the taxi driver and walked straight towards the cop car.

"Unit 643 huh? Ya know, I hate cops."

A discarded baseball bat from an earlier game with his cousin laid in the middle of the front lawn, and Glen smoothly picked it up and descended on the cop car with a fury previously unknown to him.

"THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR MESSIN' WITH ME!"

He laid into the fake police car with a vengeance, breaking the side view mirror off, busting the windshield, jumping on the roof, and it didn't move until Glen grabbed the garden hose and moved to shove it inside. Then it peeled the hell out of there faster than a NASCAR driver.

"HAH! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU AND ALL YOU MOTHAFUCKAS! AAAAHAHAHAHA!"

He tossed the bat over his shoulder and strutted inside, smilin' like he just won the lottery, and gave his gramma her laxatives with pride.

* * *

"Holy shit."

"..."

"Was that Barricade?"

"... Yup."

"Wh... why isn't Glen paste by now?"

"Ratchet threatened to disassemble him with a spork if he so much as touched him." replied Jazz.

Maggie burst into laughter. "You froshed Barricade?"

"After all the shit he put us through all these years, hell yeah! He joins our side, we get to have our own payback... don't worry, he passed the test. Glen kicked his ass, and he didn't harm one single hair on his head."

"Poor Glen."

"Bee said it was your idea."

"I'll buy him apology doughnuts tomorrow."

END

* * *

_Movie credits:_

_Maximum Overdrive_

_Christine_

_Jeepers Creepers_


	5. Best Damn Chicken In the State

**NOTE: **OLOBA universe, OC/Jazz, Can sort of be read as a oneshot, I don't think you need to know much about the big story to understand this. Just that Jazz and Mikaela's sister Malena have been tryin' to get some alone time for a while as she healed from an explosion... and of course, shit happens and the UST grows horrendously.

Partially inspired by Alien: Resurrection and the way Johner killed the spider. that's so me. LOL.

Somewhat written for the Phobia Challenge over at Flesh&Steel, though I can't really enter cause i'm a damn mod haha, but it was a fun write! (one of the stipulations is using 5 of 26 words on a list, which is why they're underlined) I'd consider this one a bit between Chapter 40 and 41, one of the many times Jazz and Malena were interrupted tryin' to get their fuck on. LOL.

* * *

He smelled like motor oil and the strong coffee he'd lure me in here with. Tasted like it too. I asked him about it. He just smiled and said, "I think its a permanent part of my system now." I didn't dare ask more details, for fear of not only my brain exploding, but not wanting him to stop what he was doing.

I'd laughed outright when I'd spotted the grey Pontiac cup on the floor outside the human barracks. Then, further on, a spoon on a napkin, and so on with a few packets of sugar, a doughnut, then, finally, after opening a door I'd never seen before, I found a topless Jazz holoform, sitting half on his Solstice car form (thank the GODS re-adopting that alt again!), holding a hot steaming pot of coffee.

"I KNEW that would work!"

... and that's how I ended up flat on my back. Again.

_Man this dude is warm. _It was weird, really, him being a hologram and all, but scientific thought was beyond me at this point, especially with his knee between my thighs and both hands working frantically (and uselessly) to unsnap my bra. Nice warm hands, a strange yet very funky contrast to the slightly chilled hood I'd been unceremoniously dumped on the moment he got the cup away from me.

Perhaps I shouldn't have let him watch me shower.

_Waitaminute, fuck that. I should have done it last week! And from now on, three times a fuckin' day._

Then, there was the growl, that somewhat adorable and totally sexy frustrated growl that came from both the holoform AND the silver Solstice I was happily sandwiched between. Well, it would have been completely yummy if I wasn't trying so hard not to laugh at my ever-increasingly pissed off mech/man/boyfriend.

"Fraggit."

"Having problems?" I asked innocently, trying very hard not to bust out into giggles and ruin the fun.

"No." another growl, one that reverberated deliciously wherever there was skin/metal/skin contact. I almost lost track of what was going on til I felt the elastic snap against my back again as he failed repeatedly to release the non-existent back clasp of my bra. "Gonna tear this fuckin' thing."

"Babe?"

"Hmm."

I had to let him off the hook, figuratively. "It's a front clasp."

He froze, then moved up to glare at me. "... and you waited this long to tell me cuz..."

I grinned. "You're cute when you're mad."

His bright blue eyes darkened above me, and the slick silver body beneath my back rumbled. A dual deep voice said "Bad Lena," like having speakers with the bass turned high and holy shit was that a turn on, both scary and... well, GUH. But when it came to Jazz my vocabulary went down the toilet. 'Guh', some days, was the only way to describe the effect he had on me. Didn't help that his doubled up voice pretty much told me I was going to get mauled and there was shit all I could do about it.

My inner cheerleader did a bouncy pom pom dance.

The holo suddenly grinned, and slowly slid his body down, pointedly ignoring the now very obvious gold clasp between my boobs and focusing further down, heading to much more interesting places.

_Holy shit, he's never done THAT before_. Well, not in holo-form, I remembered fondly, _my god that mech has a talented and verrrrry dextrous mouth_. Once again I thanked the Java Gods for yoga. But here, now, with a holoform _Oh man._

But as usual Jazz did the unexpected. Instead of yanking my panties apart like Kleenex and hiding the remnants (I didn't bother asking where they went anymore), a long caramel coloured finger dipped in, brushing a sensitive hipbone, lifted... and snapped the elastic.

I squeeked, then glared at the twinkly-eyed fucking insane holoJazz, who just grinned back unrepentantly, then dipped his head, dreads settling against my skin, tickling, and blew a big wet raspberry on my belly.

_OHMYGOD THAT TICKLES._

I screamed like a little girl and tried to push him off but he had a nice weight advantage over me, keeping me pinned with his legs, and blowing into my belly as I flailed futilely.

"Say you're sorry!" He laughed between belly blows, struggling lightly to keep me pinned down as I tried to throw him off with my hips.

"Not apologizing for your doofus-ness." I giggled, nearly toppling him off me with an upward hipthrust.

"Hmmm." he hummed and reached one hand behind him down towards my feet. "I seem to remember these things are particularly sensitive..."

_Oh oh. All Business voice. Shit._ "Okay okay, sorry. Dumb-ass." I said the last in a mutter, but surrendered when he threatened the sanctity of my ticklyfeet.

That lithe, strong body slid against mine as he raised himself back up, grinning like an asshole, and was about to lean down and kiss me (finally dammit!) when I saw the biggest mood-killer in the entire fucking universe.

"OHMYFUCKINGGOD GET OFF ME GET OFF AHHHHHH!"

Poor Jazz went flying and I rolled off his hood and was across the room in three seconds flat, up on a box and staring at the... well, I couldn't see it anymore, but I knew the fucker was there.

"The hell, woman?" an exasperated and very naked holoform flung his arms wide in confusion. He was very distracting but I wasn't going to look away from... that... not for anything. Not til it was dead.

"Spider. Over there."

Eyebrow up, he looked over his car-form, then at me, then back at his car form... then bodily twitched when contact was made. The little eight-legged bastard settled on Jazz's hood, no longer suspended above it by the single thin stringything... then crawled across it, trying to find a place to bed down, or make babies, or eat him... ugh... _UGH. _

Jazz's holo pointed at the little brown bug and stared in amazement at me. "That?"

"Kill it." I said from atop the box, shivering from my adrenaline rush and utter terror.

His voice went up a notch. "That little thing?"

The spider stopped, turned around, and went the other way, towards his windshield and the air intake vents. A full-body shudder went through me and I really REALLY couldn't help the disgusted girly hand-flapping. Jazz's shoulders shook as he took in the scene. _Asshole_.

"You faced, no, you RAN DOWN Decepticons in a tractor, got shot at, blown up, and all the other fun shit that comes with big mechs from outer space, and you're afraid of THAT?"

By the end of his little speech he was practically howling with laughter.

"I'd kick you square in the ballsack if you weren't so close to that fuckin' thing. Kill it!"

Of course, he didn't. He did the ultimate in disturbing things. He, still ass-naked with his _magic wand_ floppin' in the breeze, strolled over to his true form, reached his pointer finger down, and let the spider crawl onto his hand. I screamed with my mouth shut and hand-flapped again, bobbing up and down on my toes, trying very hard not to run like a bitch and find Ironhide. Now HE would shoot the spider for me.

"It's kinda cute!"

_WHAT? _"It's the spawn of HELL!"

He mock-glared at me, then took the spider to the door, kneeled (ooh, nice view!) and shook the spider off his hand. "Run! Run away! Before my mean ol' girl steps on you!"

"My hero." I deadpanned. It WAS hilarious and irrational and stupid, but UGH... spiders. "Blegh!"

"Awwww, it's okay, he's gone." Jazz reached out to me, and once again I got distracted by those taut muscles and the dreads and those nearly glowing blue eyes and... wait. He touched it. _Shit, he might still have it. I didn't actually see the spider fall off and run away. He might still have it... oh god. _

"NO!" I flew off the box and ran to his car-form, ducking behind it. "No way. Not with your spider-groping hands!"

"Aww come on!" Exasperated, Jazz circled around himself and tried reaching for me again, obviously enjoying this but frustrated at the same time. I squealed and shot off to the other side, suddenly laughing at the whole situation. Never did I ever think I'd be running AWAY from a naked Jazz!

And of course, that's when my baby sister and her 16 foot yellow robot sidekick walked in. They stopped chatting mid-sentence and just stared at me in my knickers and Jazz's bare-assed pursuit in circles around his car-form, which was shuddering in place from laughter.

Mikaela just stared as we both froze in place and stared back. Then she shook her head, waved her arms at us, and screeched, "What kind of kicky-ass shit did we walk in to?"

"Ummmm..." Jazz holo-poofed some boxers on real fast and tried reasoning with my freaking out little sister and the giggling Bumblebee. "It ain't what it looks like."

"What kind of toys were you going to try on her, Jazz?"

That stopped me dead. "You have toys?"

Jazz de-poofed his holo and transformed. "Girl, you don't even know what I'm capable of." He answered with a sleazy grin and a visor flash. "I'd show ya if you'd stop runnin'!"

I checked the floor where the holo used to be, and didn't see an eight-legged demon from the underworld ninganinging away from where he could have dropped. _Phew._ Poor Jazz though, tryin' to get nookie and all I could do is run away. _Shit. _

I ignored my guilt for a moment and explained to the baffled Mikaela that we were NOT engaging in kinky sex games... well, we weren't when they walked in. Lucky the spider showed up or they woulda caught us doin' the nasty. Scarring my sister was fun, but permanent trauma was NOT on the agenda. So I confessed to what happened. "Jazz had a spider on 'im."

"EEWW!" Mikaela did the 'icky' dance too, thankfully. I didn't feel like such a coward when we had that much in common.

Bee didn't even grin. He lifted the bottom of his foot guiltily and made that adorable whiny noise that never failed to get the females attention. Jazz noticed our attention wasn't on him and poked at Bee's left doorwing.

"I think I stepped on it."

"YES!" I cheered, applauding my new hero, who got smacked in the chest by my irritated mech.

"Awwww! You squashed it?"

Bee looked horribly guilty. "Sorry."

Mikaela had sympathy on him. "Babe, you did the right thing."

Jazz scoffed and pouted, obviously disturbed by the arachnid homicide. "Yeah Bee, big hero, what do ya do for an encore, juggle kittens while burning down orphanages?"

"Jazz!"

And still he grumbled. "Poor innocent lil spider..."

"Jazz, if I'd stomped a rabbit, you'd be hugging my leg in thanks right now."

"..." Neither of us human broads could say anything but muffled squeaks for a minute as Jazz's visor darkened in embarassment and a bit of anger.

"Asshole." He muttered.

"You're afraid... of bunnies? Why?" Mikaela had to ask.

And the first thing that popped into my head and out of my stupid mouth was, "Cause he looks like one?"

"Oh, fuck y'all!" Jazz spun on his heel and stomped out of the room, followed by howling laughter from the rest of us. I felt kind of bad for laughing at him, but in a way, fuck it. Payback for laughing at my spideyphobia.

Before he was completely out of the room I called out to him. "There goes my playgirl bunny halloween costume, I guess."

Only Bee could understand the bellowed Cybertronian as the door slammed.

* * *

A/N: don't ask me why jazz is afraid of bunnies. I don't know either. that's why it's an irrational fear. LOL. And excuse me shitty endings, I SUCK at endings.


End file.
